


Losing Strength

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, But not as hard as Sam, Coercive Sam, Cursed Dean, Curses, Established Relationship, Getting Sexy in the Gym, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial measurements are HARD, Light Bondage, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild S&M, Sex Toys, Shirtless Dean, Strong Sam, Tied-Up Sam, Top Dean, Top Sam, Weak Dean, see what i did there?, weights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Dean gets hit by a curse that makes him progressively weaker. It's starting to affect his training, his hunting, and worst of all, his sex life with Sam.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV

It should have been obvious that something was wrong when the equipment bag knocked him over, but he had never been a very observant guy, and it hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time. Sam had yelled “Dean! Catch!” and it had been simple muscle memory to snag the handle as the bag flew through the air toward him.

However it _wasn’t_  muscle memory for the bag to then hit him hard in the stomach and make him stumble, as if it suddenly weighed twice as much as usual. He tripped on his own feet and fell hard on his ass.

“Dean!” Sam dropped his own bag and sprinted round the side of the car, but Dean was already standing up, brushing himself off and wincing.

“Bit of warning next time, man.” Dean rubbed at his stomach and tried to ignore the pain in his tailbone. 

The thing was, Dean was used to the weight of those bags. He had slung them over his shoulders and traipsed through entire forests with them, or ran with them down deserted streets in the middle of the night. Once, in Massachusetts, he’d had to remain in a half-crouch for almost two hours with the weight of an equipment bag digging small agonies into his spine while Sam stalked a werewolf.

He told his brother that the bag had caught him off guard, but later he checked inside it to make sure it hadn’t been full of rocks instead of weapons. It did have some silver and iron and witch-killing equipment, which was nothing unexpected, but there were no unwanted rocks, so he put the whole thing out of his mind.

The next week, Dean kicked at the door to a vampire nest, but the lock didn’t break on the first strike. Luckily, Sam was ready as back up, and followed Dean’s first kick with a swift second of his own, but the damage was done. The nest had already started to wake and they had lost their advantage. Dean cursed himself, and vowed to spend more time at the bunker’s gym. He couldn’t afford mistakes like that when it was just him and Sam.

Sam reminded him that doors were getting sturdier every day, and it was nothing to get embarrassed over, and Dean tried not to get too worked up at the failure. He was fairly confident in his own hunting abilities, and Sam made it easy to forget about minor incidents.

Two nights later, he had Sam on all fours on the bed as he licked into him from behind. Sam keened and begged to be fucked, always so needy for it when Dean’s tongue was in his ass.

“Be patient,” Dean warned against his skin, holding his hips in place in case he got any wild ideas.

Sam (who always had wild ideas) ignored Dean’s hold and spun them both round, pushing Dean backwards onto the bed. “Hey!” Dean yelped, but his indignation was short lived as Sam straddled his hips and sunk down, taking him to the hilt. Dean usually liked to make Sam wait for it, until he was strung out and dripping, but he supposed it wasn’t the end of the world if Sam got his way once in a while. Especially if he got to appreciate the view at the same time. His brain tried to be concerned that Sam had overpowered him so easily, but it was hard to be concerned about something that ended so well. He clutched Sam’s thighs and moaned as his brother rode him. _I’m_ _the luckiest guy in the world_ , he told himself.  _Sam is perfect_. And then he said the same thing out loud, because hell, Sam _was_  perfect and damn if he wasn’t the luckiest guy in the world to have him for both a brother and a lover.

A week after that and he finally started to notice that something was up. He was mucking around in the bunker’s gym while Sam did some research, trying to blow off a little steam. He knew Sam liked it when he worked out before bed, but it wasn’t a full session, just a few weights to keep in shape.

It took him twenty minutes to figure out that someone was playing tricks on him.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

Sam was on his laptop, researching a beheading in Colorado. He didn’t look at Dean straight away, but answered him distractedly.

“What?”

“You changed all the labels on our weights,” said Dean. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I changed all the... what?”

“Yeah, yeah, act like you don’t know. I almost fell for it.”

“Fell for it?” Sam finally turned to face him.

“Yeah, but I’m not that easy to fool! Ha!”

“Dean, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The weights? In the gym? I almost thought I couldn’t lift the 200! Don’t act surprised. I thought we were done with prank wars, Samantha.”

“It’s _Sam_ , and seriously, Dean, I really have no idea-”

“Bet you were watching me and laughing.”

“Dean, you know that laughing is the last thing on my mind when I watch you in the gym.”

Dean squinted at him, trying to tell if he was joking.

“Is this some kind of sex thing?” Sam asked, his confused expression suddenly folding into understanding. “Because you know I don’t like getting distracted while I’m working.” He pushed his chair back, and spread his legs. “But since you’ve gotten yourself so worked up...”

Dean stared, waiting for the shoe to drop, but Sam was serious. He rolled his hips in a way that would usually have had Dean on him in a second.

Dean mumbled something about being busy and hurried out of the room.

He changed into his shorts and eschewed his shirts, opting for his Serious Gym Gear. If Sam hadn’t messed around with the gym equipment, then that meant Dean had lost a _lot_  of his training, and he wouldn’t stand for it. 

He turned the music up loud and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want a MoL gym and I will write gym sex scenes until my fingers bleed.
> 
> But honestly why are your measurement systems so ridiculous? Who uses pounds anymore get your act together America converting kg into the imperial system is not how I planned on spending my day
> 
> Also, this is the first fic I've done that isn't based on a prompt. What if no one likes it? I'll have no one to blame but myself. But OH WELL obviously spn kink meme didn't have a prompt for "Dean starts getting weak until he can't fuck his boyfriend like he wants to, so Sam has to improvise."  
> Did I give away a spoiler?  
> My bad.  
> Please let me know what you think below xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV

Sam tried to focus on the news article, but the murders was looking more and more like some gang warfare, and that was police work, not hunter business. Either way, he was having a hard time concentrating when Dean’s face kept coming into his mind.

Dean had seriously believed that Sam had been playing a prank on him. Something about the gym weights.

And then he had turned down _sex_  which was just... _what_. The last time Dean had turned Sam down had been exactly NEVER.

Sam sighed, and powered down the laptop. He wasn’t going to get any more work done anyway, not when he was so worried about his brother.

He changed into a pair of skins; the ones Dean called his weird girly tights but which always made him stare at Sam’s ass. He also grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, because Dean always forgot to stay hydrated when he was training.

Sam could smell the gym from down the hall. It was probably Freudian conditioning, but something about the smell of Dean’s sweat had him instantly hard. He took a moment to compose himself outside, but didn’t wait for his erection to go down completely. So what if Dean saw? Sam kind of hoped he would.

Dean was wearing what he called his “serious” work out gear, but what Sam secretly thought was Dean’s I’m Going To Admire Myself In The Mirror Gear.

Sure enough, Dean was standing in front of the gigantic mirror and staring at himself. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and he absolutely _glistened_  with sweat. Sam’s mouth instantly started watering, and his semi-hard-on came to full attention. There were beads of water on Dean’s temples, and along his upper lip, and Sam wanted to lick them off. His torso was equally drenched, and his chest was heaving with exertion.

“Someone’s been working hard,” Sam said in a low voice, licking his lips suggestively. Dean’s reflection glanced at him in the mirror, but made no move toward him, which Sam decided not to take personally. For a short second he thought Dean was blushing, but then he figured that Dean had been working out and the red flush was probably from exertion.

Since his brother wasn’t going to come to him, however, Sam figured he would have to play dirty. He pulled his arms above his head in a languid stretch that showed a lot of skin but probably didn’t do anything to loosen his muscles, and then sat on the weight bench, facing away from Dean. He couldn’t see his brother, but he was one hundred percent certain that Dean’s eyes would be on him. Instead of leaning backward normally, he curled his spine so that his back slowly rolled onto the bench, until he was lying down, knees wide. He gripped the bar above him and flexed, pretending to get ready to push. He knew how this would go. Dean would pretend to spot him, or would make some excuse to stand near, and then he’d comment on Sam’s skins, saying they were weird and tight. Sam would ask which part was tight, and Dean would palm him through the material, indicating with the gesture just which part of Sam’s anatomy he thought was too confined.

But Dean didn’t come to stand over him. Sam waited a long moment, and then twisted his neck to look over at Dean, whose reflection was still staring at him, and blushing fiercely.

Sam looked around for the source of Dean’s embarrassment, and his eyes lit on the weight above him. He smirked. It was still set to a measly 100 pounds. 

“Taking it easy today are you?” he asked, gently jibing. “Saving your energy for later?” He winked.

Dean left the room without a word, not even looking at Sam as he went.

Sam stood up, dumbstruck, and despite their years together and the trust and love and joy that Sam _knew_  he felt in their relationship, a sinister voice in his mind whispered _rejected_. Tears began to prick his eyes, but he blinked them back. Dean didn’t want to play dice? _Fine_. But Sam would be damned if he was just going to sit back and let Dean walk all over him.

He stalked out of the gym and followed Dean’s retreating footsteps. Sam had assumed he was going to the bunker’s communal bathroom, but the sound of a slamming door announced that Dean was in their room.

Sam didn’t even knock.

“Hey!” Dean yelped, glaring as Sam entered without warning.

“Hey yourself, jerk!”

“EXCUSE ME?” Dean was instantly in attack mode, and it took all of Sam’s mental strength to back down from the fight that his brother was so obviously seeking.

“Why’d you storm out so fast?” he asked, forcing himself to talk calm and slow, and to look Dean in the eye. Dean looked away.

“Maybe I wanted a private room to myself,” Dean bit out, his shoulders rising as though he expected Sam to hit him.

“We’ve never had private rooms,” Sam pointed out. There was a bottle of lube on the side table and Sam’s underwear was draped on the bedpost from the night before.

“Well, maybe I want one now!”

“Dean...”

“Back off, Sam! Can’t I have a bit of privacy?”

Dean pushed him in the chest, but even though his unexplained fury was mounting the shove wasn’t hard. Sam took that as a sign that Dean’s anger would be short lived.

“Dean,” he whispered, “Dean, Dean. Talk to me.”

“Go _away_ , Sam!”

Sam wrapped his arms around his older brother and resisted his attempts at pushing him off. Dean’s heart obviously wasn’t in it. He walked them backwards until they hit the bed, and then tipped them both sideways onto the mattress.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still wrapped around Dean. He kissed a cheek, an ear, the line of Dean’s jaw. Dean turned his face away, childishly trying to escape Sam’s advances. Finally, Sam leaned down and put a gentle kiss on the side of Dean’s neck, right where the heartbeat was strongest, and Dean went still. It was as though all his muscles had tightened at the same time. Sam kissed the same spot, and whispered into Dean’s ear.

“Tell me what’s wrong, big brother. Let me help you.”

Then all of Dean’s muscles relaxed simultaneously, and he flopped into Sam’s hold. Sam kept his lips against Dean’s neck and waited for him to open up.

“Something’s wrong,” Dean eventually whispered.

Sam immediately sat up, and scanned Dean for injury. He would have noticed something in the gym, but it was worried instinct that had him double checking, roaming Dean’s body with his hands.

“Tell me,” he whispered back, too scared to raise his voice above Dean’s.

“I’m...” Dean shuddered. “I’m _weak_ , Sam.”

Sam sighed. This was familiar territory. They had been over this before. He kissed Dean’s jaw in relief.

“You’re not weak, Dean. You saved the world. You saved _me_. You’re perfect.

“No, Sam. I mean really. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened. I’m weak.”

Sam leaned back, resting on his elbows, and looked down. He tried to understand.

“You’re... weak?”

Dean looked at him stonily. The expression he always wore when there were emotions underneath. “I mean I literally cannot push you off right now, Sam. And frankly, it’s freaking me out.”

Sam gaped for all of one second, and then he couldn’t roll away fast enough. Dean instantly sat up, spinning sideways, and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, and shuddered. A sick feeling coiled in Sam’s gut. Dean had been trying to push him away, and he’d ignored it, thinking that it was play.

He rolled to sit next to Dean, and tentatively placed a hand on his back. When Dean didn’t shake it off he began to rub small circles.

“Dean,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.”

Dean shook his head. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Sam slid to his knees and crawled in front of Dean. He put his hands over Dean’s, so they were both cupping his face, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He touched nothing except Dean’s hands, conscious that Dean might want to pull away at any moment. He kept whispering soothing nonsense, waiting for Dean to relax in his hands, but on the inside his brain was going a mile a minute. The weights in the gym, and the vampire that Dean hadn’t quite beheaded, and the doors that he’d stopped slamming... It now seemed so obvious. For the last fortnight Dean had been getting weaker and weaker. Sam hadn’t even noticed.

Sam tried to recall every time that Dean’s strength hadn’t been up to standard. The door to the vampire nest, maybe? And before that... the equipment bag? Dean had basically been knocked over by it. Was there a time before that?

Sam couldn’t think of a moment before the bag incident that would have indicated a loss of strength. He focused on the bag. What had been in it? Some weapons, a cleaning rag, a spare cellphone, and... witch-killing equipment

Because they had been hunting a witch.

Sam sighed. “Dean, I think you’ve been cursed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I share a computer with two people, and therefore I don't save any of my work in word, to avoid the "why is there a file called Sam_Gets_Reamed_version6.docx on this computer" conversation.  
> I save everything as drafts on tumblr, which means I have about 60 "works in progress" that I have to scroll through to find the correct version of Sam getting reamed.  
> I'm terrified I'm going to post one of my drafts one day and die of embarrassment. One of the drafts is literally a list of words I can't spell. Oooh boy.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sam is needy and Dean is moody and everyone just needs to chill out and talk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV

“Dean, I think you’ve been cursed.”

The words made it to his ears, but didn’t seem to get much further than that. His brain tried and failed to digest the information, and instead decided to spend some time admiring Sam.

Dean spent a lot of time admiring Sam. During a hunt, when a blade became an extension of Sam’s arm, he was beautiful. When he was sleeping, and his face was relaxed and open, he was beautiful. In the library, when his forehead was creased in concentration, he was beautiful. Dean could look at Sam forever. Once, Dean had tied Sam’s limbs spreadeagled on the bed and had made him come again, and again, just so he could watch Sam’s face morph into ecstasy. Sam had begged Dean to fuck him then, too, but Dean had used toys to keep his brother howling with pleasure for hours. The only reason they had stopped was because Sam had finally escaped his bonds and demanded that Dean fuck him. Dean had done so, keeping Sam on his back so he could watch that ecstasy one more time.

It was not ecstasy on Sam’s face right now. It was concern, and fear. He had crawled in between Dean’s legs to kneel in front of him, and for a moment Dean recalled all the other times they had been in this position. Sam on his knees, or Dean on his, or both of them kneeling, skin to skin from floor to chin. But the memories didn’t hold against the image of Sam’s concern.

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out, so he nodded instead.

“That witch we were hunting, remember? You were fine before that.” Dean nodded again. He didn’t bother trying to recall anything else. Sam had probably already made a mental list of every indication of his failing strength.

Dean curled further in on himself. It had to be a curse, Sam was right. Just now, Sam had held him down easily, hardly even noticing Dean’s attempts at retaliation. Sam was a big guy, sure, but Dean was solid, too, and usually they were pretty evenly matched when they practised against each other.

Dean had always been sure of himself when it came to his body. He liked that he could punch things and be reasonably assured that they would go down and stay down. He liked that women stared at him on the street. He also liked that he could hold Sam down at night. He liked that it turned Sam on when Dean wrestled him onto the bed.

Dean’s chest gave a painful squeeze. Just a minute ago Sam had been holding _him_ down. And sure, Sam hadn’t realised that’s what he had been doing, had probably thought they were cuddling or something, but when Dean pushed back he couldn’t get Sam off him, couldn’t even try, and that had sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

It wasn’t a fear of Sam, of course; Dean had been beneath his brother plenty of times before. It was a fear of himself; that his body was something unknown to him. That it was becoming something useless.

“Okay,” Sam was talking again, “I need you to tell me exactly what’s happening with you. How bad is it?”

Dean groaned and shook his head. Sam would be disgusted.

“I have to know how fast the curse is progressing, Dean. Let me help you.” Sam leaned up to kiss him, but Dean turned his face away. For a moment Sam made to follow, but then retreated, obviously remembering that he was the stronger of the pair and Dean couldn’t push away his advances any more. He put his hands on Dean’s thighs instead, and massaged gently.

“Couldn’t lift the weights,” Dean finally grumbled.

“Okay,” said Sam, patient and calm, “what was the heaviest you could do?”

Dean blushed furiously, and refused to meet Sam’s eye. He mumbled some numbers. The bench press. Shoulder curls. Butterfly holds. Sam made a good pretence of not judging, but Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t going to last. At least his hands felt good where they were rubbing into his legs.

“Is it just your arms, Dean? Or all your muscles? Are you having trouble walking?”

Dean sprang away from the bed. “I’m not an invalid!” he yelled.

“I know Dean, I know, that’s not what I’m saying.” Sam didn’t rise from his position on the floor, but motioned toward the bed again, indicating that Dean should sit back down.

“That’s exactly what you’re saying!” Dean replied, refusing to return to the bed, though he missed Sam’s soothing hands.

“Dean, please. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well you’re not!”

Sam stared up at him, his eyes wide and just the slightest bit moist. Dean knew that expression. It meant he was about to be coerced.

“You didn’t touch me in the library, or in the gym.” Sam sniffed. “And when you walked out of the room I thought it meant you didn’t want me.”

“What? Sam, I... of course that wasn’t it!”

Sam sniffed again and looked up at him, his eyes somehow even bigger. Some part of his brain knew he was being tricked, but it was overwhelmed by the part that hated seeing Sam hurt or sad. He sat back on the mattress, and leaned down to kiss Sam’s cheeks, and nose, and lips.

“You know that wasn’t it,” he whispered into Sam’s mouth.

“Just let me help,” Sam whispered back.

Dean hesitated, but Sam’s hands were back on his legs, and he was still getting stared at with those brown puppy dog eyes.

“I’m worried that you... that you won’t want me, if I’m not... if I can’t...”

Sam laughed. “Of course you’re worried about _sex_  right now.” Dean blushed. “Did you really think I wouldn’t want you just because you couldn’t lift some weights?”

“You... you love it when I hold you down.”

“I love  _you_ ,” Sam clarified. “And I’ll love you even when we’re old and grey and we need to hire a nurse to help us fuck. Do you understand that, Dean? You know that there’s nothing in the world, _nothing_ , that could make me stop loving you.”

Dean did, of course, because he felt the same way about Sam. There wasn’t a single curse or monster or illness that could change that. He felt himself relaxing into Sam’s hands. This was _love_ , not some puppy romance, and Sam would see him through it, like he always did.

“Now do you feel comfortable enough to tell me the rest of it?” Sam asked, with feigned exasperation.

“No,” Dean said, straight faced. Sam’s hands were still rubbing circles into his legs. “But I can think of a few ways to get more comfortable.”

Sam smirked, and reached for the elastic of Dean’s shorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an established relationship fic so I tried to make it obvious that Sam was respecting the fact that he was stronger than Dean, and couldn’t take tactile hints the same as he used to.
> 
> Also for those of you playing at home you'll notice I didn't end up including the specific weights for the gym, because honestly [I cannot keep track of your crazy systems of measurement.](http://67.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7gjflCmu01rziwwco1_1280.gif)


End file.
